Not-So-Tender Worship
by Def Liepard
Summary: Maribelle introduces her husband to some of her kinkier proclivities, and he discovers that sufficient amounts of worship undermine her dominant, rigid demeanour. Commission.


As Robin lay in his and Maribelle's bed, hands tied tight to the bedposts, his foremost thought was to where Maribelle had learned how to tie such complex knots, his eyes a little distracted by just how strong they were; how could such a posh noblewoman possibly know how to do that? It was a decent way to distract from his wife's impending return, from their decision to try a little "something new" at her request. He loved Maribelle with all his heart, but the glimmer in her eye when she said she wanted to dominate him, the eagerness with which she spoke, was more than a little disconcerting. Still, he was into it, especially with the hope she wouldn't go too overboard with it, and if he enjoyed it, then he certainly had little issue with doing it again with her in the future.

She'd vanished off to somewhere, claiming she'd had to "freshing up" and leaving her husband tied to the bed, completely naked and left waiting, with just enough handsiness to ensure he was pent up and squirming on the bed, the inability to tend to anything worsening the anticipation. He was left to simmer and stew over his arousal and her eventual arrival, and though he knew it was precisely what she'd intended to do, he was playing into her game before she'd even entered the room, fidgeting and squirming about. His cock was completely rigid, but he knew even if he could somehow find a way to tend to its aches, it would only start them off on the wrong foot.

When she entered the room, his jaw nearly dropped as he stared at his wife in her 'freshened' state. Lacy stockings and garters clung to her slender, toned legs, a pink corset framing her body perfectly and pushing her breasts up a little to form ample amounts of cleavage, and in the tight grip of her lacy gloved hands was a riding crop. The corset stopped high enough that her mound was on display, slick and puffy, topped off with painstakingly tended-to and trimmed golden hair. He hadn't expected her to be so dressed up for the occasion, but before him was the immaculate picture of domination and poise, graceful even in clothing that was very blatantly sexual and alluring, aided by her usual, haughty demeanour and natural proclivity toward being in charge.

She looked terrifying and gorgeous, and Robin throbbed at the sight of her.

"Good boy," she said as she strode into the room, footsteps measured and graceful as she reached the crop riding, running it from his ankle up to his cock itself, never lashing or striking at him, just teasing it, the thin, flared leather tip caressing his skin and leaving it shivering in terror in its wake, before she rubbed it up and down along his length. "I know it was hard not to touch yourself." Her voice was different, hotter and deeper, charged with sex and her superiority over her husband. Especially destructive was how she drew out 'hard', breathing heavily into the word and making him shudder as she continued to very slowly tease his cock with her crop. "But if you behave, I promise I'll reward you for your loyalty. Am I understood?" The tone and the sensation ensured that pre began to leak from his tip, cock throbbing in arousal as he tried his best to stay still.

"Yes," he moaned, and his eyes went wide in panic as he caught the fury flaming up in her expression. "M-mistress! Yes, mistress, I will behave, I promise." Nothing made him buy into the whole production quite like seeing Maribelle before him, so domineering and in control. He didn't know how devoted to the act she would be, but he knew that it wasn't much of a leap from her usual attitude in the bedroom to now; she'd just slapped on some gorgeous lingerie and called it official. The riding crop and rope were merely ways for her to express what was already a fairly dominant streak, which was why, beyond nerves, he wasn't too afraid of what she would do to him. It all seemed bound to happen eventually, that she would fully dominate him with some real theatricality beyond it all.

The crop continued its slow procession along his body, swaying from side to side across his midsection as it drifted upward, Maribelle slowly walking along the side of the bed. She'd have worn heels for the added intimidation of clacking against the floor, but her bedroom was carpeted and it would have been effort to little payoff, which was important for her in putting together her ensemble. Heels weren't needed if she couldn't use their audial advantage to further unease him, and she had little intention of stepping on her husband. This time, at least; she didn't want to throw everything at Robin in one hard go and scare him off, of course. They had their whole lives ahead of them to do unspeakable things to him during.

"How do I look, my darling?" she asked, voice still edged lustify as she stood over him, the tip running up along his neck to his jaw, pressing firmly against it as she looked at him. One quick motion brought it to the top of his jawline and pressing it downward, her way of 'encouraging' him to speak.

It was with that, her order given not by the asking of a question but by the crop indicating his mouth ought to be open, that Robin realized just how deep in she was, how much she'd been looking forward to dominating him, and how absolutely fucked he was. "Beautiful," he moaned, eyes shuting nervously, only to feel her gloved hand brushing up against his cock, so needy and twitchy. She didn't wrap around it, didn't give him what he needed, just teased her slender digits along his shaft the same way the crop had, but the warmth behind it, the knowledge they were indeed fingers and that if she were so possessed she could easily give him the handjob he so sorely desired, made it too frustrating to bear.

But she didn't like his answer, and the crop came to rest beside his head as she pulled the glove off of her hand, ignoring his cock altogether as she held firmly onto the end of the glove, the faint smile across her lips quickly souring as she slapped him with the glove. "Of course I am," she said steadily, not letting anger fill into her voice, keeping composed and in control. "I didn't dress like this to earn one word any unenlightened man on the street could give me, my love. I want you to try again, and use that colourful mind of yours to make me feel like you deserve to even be in my presence." One more slap, this time acros the other cheek for good measure, followed. She slid the glove back on, and this time threatened him with the crop itself.

"You look divine," he shuddered, wincing at the feeling of the leathery tip against his skin, knowing how much it would hurt even in the hands of someone as gentle as Maribelle. The glove hadn't particularly hurt, but it sent her message rather clearly, and he was not going to continue struggling so stubbornly. "Endlessly worthy of worship and veneration." Blasphemy was certainly a good place to start. "I want to lie at your feet and grovel for your mercy and your compassion, mistress, because you are a goddess. I only hope that I can prove myself worthy of you and please you, because all the pleasure I need is in knowing that you have found what you seek." His confessions came swift and ragged, breath growing heavy and rapid.

Her hand returned to his cock, not any faster or firmer, but at least it was there, that he had earned back the privilege of being touched and teased further. His words were sweet against her ears, so driven by need, fear, and love all at the same time. She knew he meant the sentiment behind it, but his mind was quick and florid enough to produce such a wonderful way of telling her it that she couldn't help but smile, leaning forward as he finished and planting a soft kiss to his lips, her re-gloved hand running along his cheek tenderly this time. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear," she purred, leaning over him. Her hair fell in their immaculate drill curls over her shoulders, the sweetness of her appearance from the neck up a little undermined by the wicked look in her eyes. "Thank you Robin, for being so honest. You are worthy at least of being allowed to worship me, if you so desire."

"I do," he groaned, straining a little at the ropes, tight around his wrists and keeping him pinned to the bedframe. He was playing into her hands, but with her standing over him in her lace, voice hot and low and just caressing his ears, the desire welling up inside of him and the growing, fervid belief that he wanted nothing more than to revere every inch of her gorgeous body, there was nothing he could do. He was powerless and sinking down into her desires, and he knew no reason to consider himself sane if he dared refuse her generous offer of servitude. "More than anything, mistress, I wish to worship you. Please, allow me to."

Maribelle could not refuse somebody who wanted so badly to serve her. "Of course, my devoted servant. Lavish me in all of your attention and adoration, and if you behave, I will grant you release, but only after I know itself." She pulled a foot up and extended her leg over her husband, easing it down and pressing her stocking-clad calf down to his lips. There was no need to tell him what to do, because he was eager to not upset her, and without provocation or even a little wiggle of her foot he began to kiss eagerly at her leg. He would have grabbed it, massaged her foot and her thigh as he kissed, if not for the ropes binding him to the headboard, not that the instinct wasn't there, that he didn't struggle and tug on his bindings a little.

That amused her, and she smirked as she got comfortable leaning over the bed. There was no hurry to move onto anything better, because the raw devotion with which he kissed her was its own wonderful form of pleasure, but it couldn't make the night. She very slowly eased toward him, dragging her leg along his lips, his kisses growing higher and higher along her stockings until he was finally at bare inner thigh, the blonde nearly straddling her husband as the electricity of his worship was made fully apparent against her skin directly. All-consuming and eager; he was in as deep as she was, and his remarkable loyalty would surely be rewarded.

But first, she had to enjoy herself fully, to get the most out of his service. She pulled the leg away and repositioned herself until she was straddling her husband's head, her pussy pressed tight to his lips, and that was when Robin discovered that he was not the only person in the room who was taken by irresistible lust. She was soaked, dripping down onto his lips even before he'd begun to eat her out, turned on from how gorgeous she felt in her lacy getup and of course all the affection he'd shown her thigh. He licked up the drops of her nectar that dropped his lips as she finished fidgeting and getting ready atop him, ready to be eaten out and fully worshipped.

Her hand eased its way into his hair, and he knew the pull was coming before she even did it, the blonde ever so predictable in that regard. Her other hand gripped the headboard, and she tugged hard on his hair, her grip surprisingly strong as she cleared her throat and said very clearly and dominantly, "Lick, and don't stop licking until I have told you to."

Up until that point, Maribelle's idea of domination was a gentle one, and in many ways it still was. She didn't want to bombard him with pain on their first time, and in general her approach to domination was one of poise and class; she was a graceful woman in charge of her sexuality and exerting the authority of her noble blood. She had the right to be served and Robin was to tend to her needs from then on. But the hand in his hair was the first hint that her tastes ran deeper, than she somehow sought to twist her composure, to mix it with something darker he'd yet to see. It both terrified and aroused him.

With her fingers tugging hard on his hair, harder than ever before, Robin didn't need to be told twice. He pressed up into her folds, face as tight against her as he could get it as he began to eat her out with vigor, knowing what would happen if he didn't, but also driven by lust far enough that he wanted nothing else in the world but to devour her pussy. He was invested into this whole game, their little act, and he wanted to worship his wife fully, to give her everything she demanded, because she deserved every last bit of it. If he weren't bound, he would have grabbed her round, supple ass and pulled her even tighter to his lips, to close the distance as tightly as he could.

Maribelle moaned freely, not a cruel mistress when her love was doing as he was told, and Robin was performing his part expertly. She bit her lip, tightening her hold on the headboard as she began to move, riding his face hard as she encouraged him onward. "Worship me," she cried out, looking down at him with his closed eyes, her thighs squeezing his head a little harder for good measure. "Your tongue is so skilled, and it is proving itself very worthy of me. Keep going, and you will find yourself showered in the rewards of my kindness." It was addictive, having Robin play his role, his words and his actions so committed, so believable. Whether he was truly acting or sinking into the belief of her worship didn't matter, so long as it continued to feel this amazing.

His tongue lapped desperately at her folds, licking up every sweet droplet of her nectar as it leaked out, often moving up to her clit to lavish the sensitive nub in a flurry of kisses and laps that left the blonde shuddering atop his lips. Her motions were frantic and quick, her composure letting her keep from seeming like a gutter whore in any act she performed, but it was wild and inconsistent anyway. He was used to her riding his face sloppily, but never so fast, never so hard, and he did his best to accomodate and to adjust, to give her a proper and thorough eating out, especially since if he failed to, the blame would be not on her frantic bucking and inability to keep still or consistent, but instead on him for failing to perform to her satisfaction. It ensured he was motivated and committed to the task at hand, because his hide depended on it.

All the little details about Robin's predicament caught Maribelle's attention, sweetening the deal considerably. Over her shoulder she saw his cock, leaking pre-cum all over his lap, throbbing and aching in arousal and untended-to agony. He needed attention, attention she so eagerly deprived of him, but all for a good cause; there was no better way to ensure she would get off than to get him too wound up and needy to do anything but exactly what she asked of him. Ragged breaths were not only driven by the need for air as her weight bore down on his face, but also desperately trying to take in her scent, the mix of cleanliness, arousal, and the purest essence of her, an intoxicating aroma he gladly got lost in. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands held up for her approval and admiration as they reflected his need and his utter frustration, something she wanted to further cultivate and fuel. Desperation was her currency more, how she could control and dominate him.

Robin was shamelessly wrapped around her finger, the brilliant tactician who had led the Shepherds to countless victories, who could seamlessly master any weapon or role he set his mind to, brought to grovel and serve her. His face made a wonderful throne fit for royalty, enough to sate the noble's need for a kingdom just fine. If her only subject was her husband, then she was a very content ruler indeed. Content enough to ride his tongue with abandon, pulling harder on his hair as her moans grew louder and more feverish. She was painfully close, that much was apparent, but the mystery to Robin—and in many ways to Maribelle hereself—was whether only one orgasm would buy him his relief.

Thery would discover the answer together, soon enough, as Maribelle cried out in bliss, bucking and shuddering atop his lips. "Worship me!" she repeated in a ragged howl as she came, her quim dripping much more freely as she lost herself in her husband's service to her. Her bucking grew faster as her head pitched forward, slumping against the headboard and shuddering as the passion tingled its way up her spine, intense and more than she could handle, almost more than she could be ladylike through. In fact, the vulgarity that passed her lips in her whispered moans were certainly a departure from acceptable behavior.

She knew there was no way to resist the temptation of riding her husband's tongue raw other than to pull away entirely. Her dismount was clumsy and graceless, but she had to prioritize necessity over style, just this one. "That was incredible," she said, voice a little too ragged and uneven to be what it needed to be, but she quickly found herself again, a few deep breaths straightening her out as she faced away from him, her panting ceased. This was her first time dominating so hard, and she wasn't entirely in her element yet. Pleasure in particular threw her off rather quickly. "You've earned your release," she said, turning back toward her husband and climbing on top of him, but this time sinking down onto his cock without teasing or ceremony. She was a little needier than she let on.

The slick velvet of her pussy enveloped Robin's cock, granting it the much-needed relief he'd been too obedient to ask for. He moaned, throbbing inside of her as his head leaned back, eyes shut tight in sheer satisfaction and relief at what was happening. "Thank you for your kindness," he moaned, keeping in character even after getting what he wnted, fearing the price of complacency. As she began to ride him, a little more cautious atop his cock as she got used to the girth inside of her, she rewarded him not with more praise, but by taking her glove off and slipping bare fingers into his mouth. His eyes opened wide to find the love of his life pitched forward a little, leaning her grip over him, and the look on her eyes told him he was to suck. And so he did, moaning around the digits as they pumped in and out of his eager mouth.

Once she was sufficiently loosened up, Maribelle rewarded Robin's eagerness to eat her out with the same speed and force atop his cock that she gave his lips, riding him hard, just as much for his benefit as for hers. Fingerfucking his mouth was more for him than she let on, although the enjoyment she would have was well worth was, of course, something deeply satisfying about being atop his cock, still in control completely, watching her husband suck on her fingers, moaning as he did whatever she asked without question or hesitation. This was power, and she could hardly be blamed for wanting more of it.

When her digits were thoroughly sucked on and slick, she withdrew them, hurriedly reaching behind herself and down with the hands, grabbing Robin's ass with her slick fingers, and his eyes opened in shock as he felt them push in before he could react. Two spit-soaked fingers sank deep into his ass, making him cry out in surprise, jerking and throbbing harder inside of her as she introduced him to a new form of sensation, seeking out his prostate and rubbing firmly at it against the sensitive, eager inner wall of his ass, which clenched down so tightly around her fingers. It was a new level of intense for Robin, who bucked wildly, hands balled into tight, white-knuckled fists. It felt better than he was okay with, not wanting to give her too much satisfaction from his reaction but unable to keep from melting into a gooey mess on the bed as he focused entirely on her, his eyes and his words and his every thought honed in on the beautiful woman riding his cock, whose adoring tenderness could turn into something dark and violent in seconds if he didn't toe the line, something that turned him on most of all.

"Moan for me!" she demanded, flashes of that darkness peeking through as her nails ran up his chest, not hard enough to break the skin but certainly enough to make him cry out in surprise and pain, but it mingled too much with the pleasure for his liking, and what came out was ragged and satisfied all its own, proving that she could draw from him any reaction she desired. This was intense, his cock being frantically ridden while she fingerfucked his ass, but it was clear to Robin this was only the tip of the iceberg for what wickedness she had planned.

He was looking forward to it.

The endless attention to his prostate mixed with the over-worked need that being facesat had built up inside of Robin. Anticipation reached its limit, and he didn't care about holding back, or even if he was allowed to cum. Whatever punishment awaited him for lacking permission was worth it as his hips rocked powerfully up off the bed, bouncing Maribelle up an inch off of him, slamming back down in surprise as she shuddered, the impact followed swiftly by a rush of warmth as his seed rushed into her, his balls emptying frantially as pleasure surged. The payoff was grand, and it was very apparent to him why such painstaking builds were worth it. He couldn't stop rolling his hips, fucking up into her as rope after rope of cum filled her, left breathless and ragged but still thrusting out of a driven, desperate need to.

"So much cum," she marveled, still fingering his ass as he settled down, unable to gather himself as she gently rocked atop him and focused on his prostate, unwilling to give him rest quite yet. "I guess this really does work." She wiggled her hips, leaning forward and digging her nails into his chest as her face came right close up to his. "But I haven't gotten off yet, and I'm going to ride you again in a moment until I do. Just because you earned one orgasm doesn't mean you do not belong to me, and I am going to make sure that you spend the rest of the night making up for cumming before I said you could." She licked her lips, a devilish smile flashing down to her husband. "And once I do get off, I'm going to make you eat your cum out of me a—"

"Oh what the hell, ma! Why'd ya leave the door open?"

The mood shattered immediately, the couple pulled from their game as they looked back to find the door halfway open, a mortified and shivering Brady against a wall with a look of total terror on his face.

Oops.


End file.
